(AN: Found this hidden away in my drafts just now, and I'm surprised I hadn't added this to the fic ages ago. Enjoy.)

Boq fled later that night, finding himself unable to stay inside the mansion. The guilt ate away at him little by little, but he reminded himself he had done what needed to be done. The laws stopping the Munchkinlanders from crossing the border were revoked, and with his newfound freedom he fled to the city. To catch a glimpse of Glinda, or to drown himself in the sea of green and frivolous entertainment only the capital could provide. Despite being free, Boq felt as though the stand off back at Colwen Grounds had changed him more than he cared to admit.

Nessarose lay dead or dying on her bedroom floor, and Boq still couldn't rid his mind of her.

It was all his doing... though who could really say? Her eyes had been dull and full of misery long before he'd picked up the blade, and he doubted any sane Munchkinlander would wring his neck for that. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if Nessarose had survived his brutal attack... if she was still there, wailing in despair as she had been when he'd left her there.

He doubted it. In that moment of clarity, he'd had no intention of letting her live. It was for the greater good of his countrymen, for himself... for Nessa, even. She'd become a monster, and he was saving her from herself.

Boq sipped at his ale, shuffling in his corner seat of the dingy pub as if he could wedge himself further out of view. If he wasn't only hiding from his guilt, he was hiding from the Wanted poster plastered on the wall opposite: The exaggerated sneer, the unmistakable green skin and the piercing eyes that seemed to follow him. It was a trick of the mind, and he hadn't yet had too much to drink. He kept his head down, his eyes on the dirty pitcher that was bordering emptiness, and chose to feign naivete.

Little did he know (and perhaps it was better that way) that hidden away somewhere not too far from her old home, Elphaba Thropp had felt the sharp stab as the Munchkin carried out his desperate act. Boq did not understand the bond between the sisters or the magic that ran deep in their blood ties, as he did not understand so many things.

It was unfortunate, for someone already knew of his guilt, and she was a far more dangerous force of nature than he.

Colwen Grounds had collapsed into a strange depression, and everything had come to a halt in the deafening silence. It was almost as if the whole estate was in mourning, but Elphaba herself knew this was not so. The town square would be met with joyful celebration, come morning.

By candlelight, the Wicked Witch of the West cradled her sister in her arms, overcome with an overwhelming sense of failure. There was a bitter sadness, too, and the sting of fury. She hadn't been there for Nessa, and now she was paying the price for her own idiocy. Nessarose had become what she had feared and despised, twisted out of all her own beauty. But she'd met her demise in such an awful way, and Elphaba hadn't reached her in time. She hadn't seen any of this coming. How could she, after all of this?

Elphaba glanced down at the shoes. The shoes shone a bright red, sparkling with the life Nessarose had lost, if only for all the blood. A curl of lips, her teeth bared. The Witch thought of Boq, the wretched fool of a boy, and swore her vengeance. He had proved himself as wicked as she, after all.